Page 72 of Caught Up In You

I want to have those words tattooed on me, just above my hip, where Owen rested his large, warm hand. I want to turn them into a song and listen to it for the rest of my life.

We said no commitments, no labels, butmy Wyattfeels like something else entirely.

And it scares the shit out of me.

My spiral is interrupted by a grumble coming from the back.

“You talking to me, Ernie?” I call, dumping my bucket of soapy water down the sink and going to check on him.

“IsaidI need some help,” Ernie barks, rubbing the shoulder supported by a sling. He managed to take twenty-four hours offbefore he got bored out of his fucking mind (his words) and came back. But he’s under strict orders to liftnothing.

He’s thrilled, clearly.

“Which one?”

“The summer shandy.”

“On it.”

I leave Ernie to wipe down the bar, but when I get back with the keg wagon, he’s doing something absolutely bizarre.

He’s smiling.

And that’s because he’s got the rag tossed over his shoulder, his good elbow leaning into the bar, as he makes conversation with Romy Maxwell.

“Watch out for that one—he’s trouble,” I say when my best friend turns on her stool and spots me.

And instead of snapping at me, Ernie just blushes.

My mouth hangs open. “Ernie, are youstarstruck?”

He shakes his head, but then he turns to Romy and says, “I love that one you do about the blue dress.”

Romy lights up like a disco ball. “ ‘Tears in Chiffon!’ That’s a B-side. You’re a real fan!”

He shrugs, but he warms to the praise like a preschooler presenting an art project. “I like country. The classic stuff, not that pickup truck shit,” he says. “You remind me of Linda Ronstadt.”

Romy’s mouth drops open. “Holy shit, that is the biggest compliment anyone has ever paid me.”

“Ernie, you old flirt.” I’ve literally never heard my boss talk to a stranger this much. But I’m proud of Romy and thrilled to watch her get her flowers.

“Let an old man have some peace,” Ernie grumbles with a wave of his hand. He snaps the towel off his shoulder and goes back to wiping the bar.

The same spot he was cleaning when I left.

I pull Romy into a hug and then heave the keg into place. “I’m so glad you came,” I tell her has I tap it.

She glances around the quiet bar. We don’t open for another hour, so it’s clean and doesn’t smell like stale beer and body odor yet.

“Wyatt, I love this place,” she says. “Yours?”

“No, I just work here. Chatty Cathy here owns the place,” I say, snapping a bar towel at my boss. I brace for a snappy retort, but instead he just shrugs his good shoulder.

“Couldn’t run it without you,” he says, his voice gruff. He eyes me. “I’m heading out to do my stretches with Corianne. You good here alone?”

“I’m not alone,” I say, nodding at Romy.

“I’m happy to jump in. Wyatt and I tended bar togethera lotback in the old days. I can pull a pint like you wouldn’t believe.”

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